She looked more than ever unplucked, untouched, like a rosebud.
On the tip of his tongue there were words of adoration, not fastidious and carefully chosen, but simple, elemental words such as a farmhand might blunder out in the deep shadow of a lane, after dark.

But he held them back.

He would wait until after they had dined together and all round them there were silence and solitude.

He drove still more slowly in order to give the two Japanese servants time to carry out his instructions and remove themselves.

That cottage, which he had bought on the spur of the moment, fitted out with elaborate care and used only twice, for two weeks since, was to justify itself, after all.